


Idle hands

by EverydayClumsy



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: ? - Freeform, Gen, Hobbit Culture & Customs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 23:11:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverydayClumsy/pseuds/EverydayClumsy
Summary: A short Short about Bilbo Baggins hanky.





	Idle hands

**Author's Note:**

> Very short Short. Idk. Had time at work and had my notepad with me.
> 
> 31.01.2019 Some minor corrections.

It is known to all Hobbits, be they young or old ─shy or bold─ that there should not be idle hands, in lands they part be.  
Young laddies and lassies learn from their parent’s warm embrace, what all Hobbits should know; and do know. How to stitch on a button. How to mend a sock. How to weed the flowers.  
But as all little mischief-makers know, there are things they learn by themselves. How to steal a cookie when no one’s looking. How to plant a big spider in auntie’s favourite hat. How to run and hide when you are yet spotted stealing that cookie, or when auntie puts on that hat with the spider and all.  
Not everyone is as good as their next-to in all these things.  
Little Bungo, for example, was pants at picking flowers, or for that matter weeding them. They all looked the same to him, all bright and colourful and all deserving a place in his parent’s garden. Therefore, his mother taught him how to stitch those flowers onto cloth, and _that_ he was good at.

There were others like him.  
Like little Belladonna, who could not make a stitch without pricking her clumsy fingers. But _flowers_ , those she understood, and her grandmother took her aside to teach her all that she knew.

Time goes by as it always does and sometimes it brings good things with it.

For our little ones it brought each other.  
When they met, she gave him a bouquet full of daisies and dandelions and he in return stitched them onto the veil she lifted, the day she took his name.

And really how could it be, if not like this?  
When Bungo was all grown and had his own laddie to teach not to let those little hands be idle, he taught him how to stich all the flowers his wife had picked.  
When Bungo taught him his letters, his Bilbo learnt all on his own how to stitch their initials on a white handkerchief with all the colourful flowers his mother had gathered.  
And when little Bilbo was grown and his parents left for the greenest pastures, he held onto those little flowers, stitched by clumsy little hands, that tried _so hard_ to learn on their own, and tried not to forget his father’s warm words and his mother’s jolly laugh.

Destiny and fate are never idle, and so the all grown up Bilbo had to set out on an adventure, and so he did. However, he did forget his handkerchief and his heart broke a little, he feared the most that he would forget.

Time goes by as it always does, and _sometimes_ it brings good things with it.

And sometimes _not_.  
In the end, the handkerchief was lost to a neighbour or a relative. But _really_ , it did not matter that much.  
Some heartaches are bigger than others, and losing your friends would always win out over a dusty handkerchief. Bilbo now knew he would never forget.

And maybe sometimes when the night greeted the day, he could hear his mother’s laughter mingled with others he knew so well, feel his father’s warm hands, and hear a deep voice telling of kingdoms lost.  
But he was sure, he would never tell.


End file.
